


The Grimmer Tales: Legends of the Dark Forest

by richardisroger91



Series: The Grimmer Tales [1]
Category: Aschenputtel | Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richardisroger91/pseuds/richardisroger91
Summary: The Huntsman meets a werewolf; Snow White wages an evil war of conquest; the Glass Queen sits enthroned.
Series: The Grimmer Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897639





	The Grimmer Tales: Legends of the Dark Forest

Gingerbread Delight

“They’ve been chosen, Ansa. You know there was nothing I could have done to change it.”  
“We could appeal to the Glass Queen. She would put a stop...”  
“She doesn’t know the situation out here. We’re the last village before entering the Eternal Forest. We cannot allow its evil to spread beyond our village. That’s been our task for centuries. If we falter now, whatever is lurking in there will spread into the Kingdom. “  
“At the price of our children?! If the Queen knew, she’d put a stop to this madness. She’s nothing like the other monarchs…”  
“I’m sorry, Ansa, it’s been decided. We can always have more children.”

Hans pulled himself further away from the closed door and lied back down upon the thin mat in front of the fire. He wished he could say he was shivering due to the winter’s cold. Greta and he had been chosen as the winter’s sacrifice to the dark beast that lurked deep within the forest.  
All the children knew not to enter the woods alone; they didn’t know what lived in there, but they knew that the occasional body was found when some child didn’t listen to the warnings. What they did know was that the sacrifices had begun a hundred years ago. The one year they refused a horrid beast that was half wolf and half bear had appeared to terrorize the village for months before it had dissipated into leaves and twigs. Whatever had conjured it possessed an incredible dark power.  
Hans wiped the tears away. Poor Greta still had no idea they’d been selected.  
The sun had long since risen and passed the mid-day point before they’d stopped walking through the forest. They were many miles deeper in than either of the children had ever been before.  
“Here we are, children,” their father rumbled. “Why don’t you both rest here while I collect the wood?” He passed them a small basket from the wagon he carted.   
As Greta lifted its cover to spy the small flask and loaf of bread, he raised his hand and quickly blew a puff of red powder into their faces. Hans and Greta crumpled, snoring gently. He patted their heads clumsily; he had never been good at affection. He opened his mouth as to say something, closed it, then turned and ambled away through the trees. A wind stirred the leaves and, if one wasn’t careful, one would have thought the trees moved positions.  
Hans and Greta stirred before the sun set. They didn’t exchange any words for the longest time as they dined on the little provisions left to them. Greta wiped her eyes furiously off and on.  
“He’s not coming back, is he?” Greta whispered. “What do we do now?”She lifted a hand, and the smaller saplings bent sideways, providing a clear look at the darkening lines of trees in all directions.  
Hans slapped her hand down.  
“Stop that. Father said we were never to use our powers.”  
“Father isn’t here now, is he?”  
Both Hans and Greta had been born with “gifts”, rumored to have been inherited by a great-grandmother who had held various dalliances with any number of fairies and elves. She had been burned as a witch under the dark ages of King Zephrons. While magic wasn’t exactly rare – what with all the elves, fairies, trolls, and other assorted creatures, it was almost common – magic in humans was highly frowned upon.  
Greta had been born able to move things without ever touching them. She had once overturned the neighbors’ barn when its owners’ pernicious son had tried to kiss her forcibly. Hans too could move things, though to a lesser extent. He never lifted anything heavier than a shoe. Greta often thought his other gift trumped hers though. He could see through any magical disguise. While Greta was frequently tricked into the bog or other unpleasant place by mischievous pixies masquerading as village friends, Hans had never fell prey to any of their deceits. Their father had tolerated their gifts, but their mother had hated them. She took to beating them when their father was away anytime she caught them using their gifts.  
“We can’t hang around here all night, Hans. I’d like to know if there’s any beasts lurking before I start walking, wouldn’t you?”  
Hans nodded.  
“I thought a monster or something would have come for us by now,” he said. “The sacrifice can’t just be two kids abandoned in the woods, can it?”  
“I’ve no idea.” Greta responds. “I didn’t know we’d even been selected ‘til this morning, did I? But I imagine something awful must be headed our way. Let’s try not to be here when it arrives.”  
She took Hans by the hand and raised the other. The trees bend way as she and Hans began to walk deeper in the woods unaware that they’re headed the wrong way from home. Behind them, a shadow followed softly as the moon began to light up the sky.  
For many days they stumble through the woods, and the scariest thing they encountered was an angry skunk when they accidentally stumbled across her kids. By that time, however, Hans was more worried about starving to death than any monster lurking in the ever thickening and darkening forest. A few times, he and Greta had to catch one another as they stumbled, weak from hunger.  
“What are we going to do, Hans?” Greta moaned. “We’re going to die out here.”  
“I think that was the point, sister. Don’t worry, we’ll find some berries or….”  
Hans stopped speaking and pointed his face towards the sky. He sniffed deeply. Greta looked at him, puzzlement written across her face.  
“What are you doing?”  
He sniffed again and, this time, a look of wonder crossed his face.  
“Do you smell that?” he continued to sniff.  
Greta lifted her head and breathed in. The more she sniffed, the greater the smile that crossed her face.  
“Is that…” she whispered more to herself than Hans, “… is that gingerbread?”  
Gingerbread was the siblings’ favorite Christmas snack. It was the only time they were ever allowed to have it due to the fact that their mother had always felt that ginger was a ridiculously expensive spice. The truth was she had hated making sweets as they often caused her to be sick, and she only conceded to this one sweet due to their father’s prompting.  
“It is ginger, Greta, it is!! That means that there must be a house nearby!!”   
Greta actually jumped and clapped.   
“Food! Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a roof over our heads again too?”  
She lifted her hand and spun in a circle, letting the surrounding trees lie towards the ground.  
“Look!! Over there.”  
She pointed towards the north. In the distance, a small little cottage could be seen putting out smoke from the chimney. She started running as the trees all sprung back up, one barely missing Hans face by an inch.  
Hans ran after her, yelling for her to slow down or to stop.  
It was a small cottage they stumbled upon, as they entered the clearing gasping for breath. Its door was painted a warm, rusty red perfectly complementing the barn. A gaggle of geese squawked and fluttered; a small hen-house sent forth the gentle murmurs of clucking. The smell of gingerbread overpowered everything else here, and Hans actually began to salivate causing Greta to poke him with the handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.  
“Who do you think lives here?” she asked him. “I mean, it’s the middle of the forest. There are no kingdoms on the other side, and the Glass Queen reigns on our side. Who’d want to live in the Eternal Forest?”  
Now that Greta had distracted him from the pull of his belly, Hans took a proper look around him for the first time.  
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe it’s an old cotter. But something doesn’t feel right.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I’m not sure. I have that same feeling I get every time a fairy or troll is trying to pull something over our eyes.”  
Greta squatted to cuddle one of the geese that had waddled up to her. She stood with it still in her arms and held it out towards her brother.  
“These aren’t an illusion. Feel it, that’s a real goose. I’m willing to bet that if you touch that barn or knock on the door that they’re real too.”  
Hans nodded his agreement.   
“O.k., but let’s be careful.”  
Tiny puffs of dust rose up as they walked up to the door. A cat strolled from behind the barn and rubbed itself against Hans as he knocked on the door. Its purr was warm and comforting.  
“Why, hello, wee dearies! What’s youngins’ like yerself be doing wandering through to me door?” An old, fat woman whose swaths of fat concealed the muscles of a woman who carried heavy loads and experienced much of life without anyone else had pulled open the door.   
She fussed about them, pulling them in as she spoke. As the door closed, the shadow that had been trailing them pulled away from the woods and slid to the door. The farmyard transformed as it slid across it, and attached itself to the door. No longer was red, the door had become pitch black and peeling. The quaint farm was gone. In its place was a run-down cottage standing in the epicenter of a vast swamp. Where the chicken coop had been was an enclosed cage of alligators, and the cat’s fur ruffled and a skeletal boar stood in place of the cat.  
Neither child noticed as the door swung shut behind them.  
“Call me Madame Strigga, me wee poppets. Come in, come in, and don’t be shy. That's right, this way.” She poured forth a constant stream of chatter as she separated both of the children from their coats. She guided them to a cozy table and started to pull various pots and pans from the fire. “I'd take a gander that yerselfs be hungry. Let's see, have yerselves some barley bread and...”  
The table began to groan beneath the weight of not only the barley bread but also pottage with beans, goose potatoes, leeks, a leg of mutton, venison, gooseberries, and bowls of poke-berries. There was also a steaming bowl of skunk cabbage and cattails. The crowning achievement, that had both children crowing with delight however, was a huge hunk of gingerbread covered with a sticky-sweet glaze.  
“Madame Strigga,” Hans gasped, “It's far too much...”  
“Nonsense,” she cackled. “Me wee poppets will be nice and stout after Madame's cookery.” She bowed over with the power of her own laughter. Strigga gestured for Hans and Greta to eat. Without further prompting, both fell to it with a hearty appetite.  
When their hands and mouths began to slow, their eyes too began to close. Hans kept jerking his head in an effort to remain awake, but Greta had succumbed to the influence of Hypnos without any qualms.  
“Greta....Greta.” Hans whispered, “My feeling is getting stronger – I think we should leave.” His chin fell against his shoulder with the last of his strength.  
Madame Strigga towered over the both of them and watched as they slept. Her bony fingers snapped. The shadow pulled itself from the door and slithered up to her. She stroked it, her hand melding into its form like oil.  
“You certainly decided not to follow instructions and bring these little brats here as quickly as possible, didn't ya?” Beneath her fingers, the shadow squirmed. “Never mind, me poppet. Take the wee ones to their rooms, and get this mess cleaned up.”  
The shadow began to swirl around both the table and the children as Madame Strigga slipped on a pair of faded slippers. She strode towards the door and, with each step, her formed dissipated 'til she was completely gone. The children and shadow vanished too. All that remained was an emptied and cleaned table.

The sun was brightly streaming over the patched comforter when Greta first stirred and stretched. She blinked and smiled as the memories of the previous night, and the comfort of a full meal, came back to mind. She patted the sheets beside her for Hans. He wasn't there. She threw back the covers and ran out the door down a short hall. She practically tumbled down the staircase at its end. Finding herself back in the main area she'd entered last night, she cried out.   
“Hans?!? Hans! Where are you?!”  
“Greta! Run, Greta!!” Hans’s voice screamed from the outdoors, filled with fear and pain. Greta ran for the door, and stopped, shocked, when she saw what the once pleasant farm view had become.  
“Run, Greta!!! Hurry!”   
She saw him then. He was stretched between two trees near the crocodile pen. His arms were bleeding and his legs looked as they had been slashed with talons. Madame Strigga stood before him; the shadow curled around her neck like some thick, hideous snake. She turned as Hans continued to shout at Greta to flee.  
“Why, a good mornin' to yerself, my wee lass. You're up just in time to help me start with breakfast.” She grinned wickedly and stepped closer to him so that she could run her tongue across his face. She picked up a leather bound dagger from the ground. It dripped something towards the ground, something dark and red, and that something looked suspiciously like...  
Hans scream echoed over the swamp as Greta too cried out as the blade went deep into his leg. Strigga smiled and plunged the blade back into the leg again, hacking away chunks of flesh and muscle.  
“No,” Greta shrieked, running towards them both. Slipping and sliding into the murky waters and scraggly moss and grass, she threw out her hands towards Strigga. Madame stumbled and the dagger threw itself through the air and buried into a stubbly tree. Greta threw her own self at Hans. Attempting to untie the ropes, she found that they'd all been embedded into the trees. On the ground, Madame Strigga snapped her fingers and she was suddenly behind Hans, looking at Greta over his shoulder.  
“The wee poppet is a cailleach, eh? I could taste the power in yer brother's blood.”   
The dagger came rushing from the tree back into Strigga's grasp as she held out her arm. She licked the blade.   
“But it doesn’t amount to much. Yerself though, mmmh, I could apprentice ya, I'm sure.” She chuckled, and wrapped her arm around Han's throat.  
“Back up, wee cailleach, so I can show you how the big girls do it.”   
Madame Strigga's nails punctured Han's skin, causing him to scream out with pain. Tiny pebbles begin to float around and ripples shook the stagnant waters.  
“That's right, poppet; try to save yerself.” Strigga's cackling grew louder.  
Greta tore at Madame's arm furiously, trying to lodge it free, but it was like moving a tree. Like a tree... Greta was hit with an idea. She let go and took a step back. She lifted her hand, trying to focus, and then threw it sideways. With a shriek as loud as an avalanche, Madame Strigga was thrown in the same direction as Greta's movement. At the same instant, the ropes ripped themselves free from their arbor imprisonments. Hans crumpled to the ground, moaning softly and his eyes closed. Strigga found herself smashing into the crocodile enclosure. The beasts beat their tails against the ground and smacked their teeth but seemed too afraid to make any move against Madame Strigga herself. She disentangled herself from the crumbling walls, and rose terrible like a thundering cloud.  
“Stupid lass.” she snapped. “You think that you can stop me? You're nothing but a sacrifice to me, have yer forgotten? That makes you, and that juicy brother of yers, mine. I could've taught ya things, things ya never thought of. But I see ya need breakin' in first.”  
She raised her arms into the air, and a freezing wind whipped across the swamp and swirled around her. Greta pulled Hans into her lap and tried to keep him safe from the branches and twigs being ripped and thrown about by the gale.  
Madame Strigga intoned:  
“Winds that free  
And winds imprisoning  
Free the beasts that lurk within  
Punish these fools for their sin!”  
Her voice had risen to a screaming pitch but it could barely be heard over the continuously escalating winds. The swamp waters began to blow back, and Greta screamed at what they revealed crawling back from the muck and slime below. Part corpses of the swamp and part whatever element of tree or grass that seemed to collect within it, they were towering monsters. Strigga, though, wasn't done.  
“Shadow,” she snapped. “Teach this cailleach impostor what real power can do.”   
The shadow uncoiled itself from her shoulders and slid to the ground. The waters fell back from where they had parted. The shadow began to engorge itself on the waters, towering higher than the already conjured beasts. Its form became corporeal, and its likeness was like Strigga herself but dead and bony. The real Madame Strigga screamed with laughter, and gave one command to her creations: “Kill the boy; punish the girl.”  
They approached slowly, seeming to savor the smell of fear that Greta knew she was emitting. Hans was still out, and she shook him furiously.  
“Hans, help me, Hans.” she murmured.   
She threw out her hand repeatedly. Stones and branches.tossed themselves. The crocodiles disappeared amongst the treetops, but nothing she did seemed to have any impact on the beasts and Strigga-shadow. Greta found herself torn from Hans and flying high in the fist of the Strigga-Shadow. She screamed as the fist began to crush her – she felt something crack as she struggled. As the darkness began to fill her vision, she swiped her hand, but nothing happened. Focusing harder, gasping against the encroaching darkness, she pushed outwards with all her strength.  
Greta gasped in pain as she felt something exploding within her. An oozing coolness that filled her being, it rushed outwards with a blast of heat. She was suddenly falling. She felt her leg snap beneath her as she slammed into the ground. But instantly the cooling sensation filled her again and the leg was whole. The blackness of unconsciousness that had been threatening her washed away. Looking up, she found the Strigga-shadow ablaze with golden fire. The real Strigga was screaming with rage as the shadow copy stumbled and fell, bringing trees and most of the cottage down with it.  
“Noooo!” Madame Strigga raged. “You will not stop me. I will have your flesh for my bread!” She flicked her hand at the corpse beasts.  
“Destroy the bitch!”  
The beasts pounced as one at Greta. She snapped her fingers instinctively and, with a flare of light, the beasts crumpled into ash and dust.  
Greta turned her attention to Madame Strigga who stood proudly with head held high and arms splayed. As she attempted to stare Greta down, a ball of fire formed between them.  
“”Tis yer last chance, wee cailleach. Stand yerself down, and I might yet spare yer. Yer brother will still have to be me dinner, however.”  
“You’re going to let us both go.” Greta snapped. The strange coolness flowing through her gave her a sense of invincibility, and she had stopped being afraid the moment she'd fallen from the grasp of the Strigga-shadow.   
“On yer head be it,” Madame Strigga sneered.  
The fireball hurled itself at Greta and consumed her in its center. Instinct told her she should have been screaming, but she felt no pain and not even her clothes were burnt. A voice from her subconscious whispered to her, and she swirled her hand in an intricate pattern. Words fell from her lips without thought.  
“Fire consuming with evil intent -  
Caster's days numbered and spent-  
Return to thy mistress; end your power  
I am High Priestess – newly in flower”  
The fire became a whirling tornado around her, and it pulsated towards Madame Strigga. Greta was left standing unharmed. The same couldn't be said for Madame Strigga as, with an unearthly keening, she became a pillar of fire. Her keening grew ever stronger. Greta heard attempts at spell-casting, but the fire was too strong for Madame Strigga. She fell, a husk of charred bone and papery, ashy skin. The fires died and faded away. The strength that had been fueling Greta receded and she found her knees were left shaking and Hans came rushing back to her mind.  
She stumbled to him and collapsed, pulling him in to her lap. He was covered in blood, ash, and dirt. Beneath the grime, he was pure white.  
“Hans,” she whispered to him. “She's gone; we can leave now. Wake up. Hans. You've got to wake up, Hans.”   
She began to sob over him, attempting to deny the truth beneath the silence of his chest. Her tears fell upon his face, leaving trails of unmarred white. She noticed that each tear was oily with darkness. They began to grow and cover him, a blanket of blackness that enshrouded him. She cried harder as his whole body became insubstantial and her hands and fingers slipped through the dark shadow that remained. The shadow stirred and slithered; it was exactly like the one Greta had destroyed minutes before. It crawled from the ground and wrapped itself around her shoulders.  
“Don't cry, Greta,” Hans voice whispered from the shadow. “I haven't left you.” Gravely and placid, the shadow of Hans continued to reassure Greta. She, in turn, couldn't stop sobbing.  
She lay crumbled there for longer than she could imagine. When she looked up, dry-eyed, Hans's shadow was slithering over the swamp. Everywhere he slithered, the swamp transformed itself. Grasses and daffodils, tulips, shrubs, blackberry bushes, and patches of wild strawberries sprung up as far as could be seen all through the forest. The waters sunk into the soil. The earth spewed up huge, rough hewn stone that fashioned their selves into a well complete with bucket and rope.  
Greta looked at the Hans shadow in confusion.  
“What are you doing, Hans? We can just go back home now.”  
Hans's shadow began to slide over the remains of the cottage. His voice, when he responded, did not carry over the air but formed itself directly in her thoughts.  
“Can't leave here,” his voice whispered. “You took on her power and the curse she bore when you killed Madame Strigga. We are stuck here – unable to leave this stretch of swamp. We are the leaders of the forest's darkness now. Even if we went home, you would be run off – do you not feel the same hungers Strigga felt stirring in you yet?”  
His words filled her with horror and repulsion but she felt the truth of them as they fell upon her. Greta's stomach did rumble as though she had not feasted the night before. And what she craved was not vegetables, or venison, chicken, herbs, or even gingerbread. It was something new – in her mind formed the image of child dressed with potatoes, butter, and apples.  
“NO! NO! NOOO!” she grabbed her hand and tried to shake the hunger and the images from herself.  
“No good screaming, Greta,” Hans continued speaking. “Don't worry; the village will keep sending sacrifices. You only have to eat what you're craving once a year. The rest, you'll eat like anyone else.”  
“How do you know this?” Greta asked.  
Hans shadow shook itself.  
“Just do. I'm a shadow now – that connects me to all the things of darkness in the forest. I know what they know. And we're lucky they decided to accept Madame Strigga's death as sacrifice or they'd be here to kill you, leader or no. Look at this, now you'll have a way of remembering home.” His shadow had finished crawling over the ruined cottage. In its place was a new one. It was made, however, entirely of …  
“Gingerbread,” Greta mumbled to herself. She stood shakily, and almost fell again as she spotted the thousand of eyes lurking in the darkness of the forests trees. She knew who they were and did not appreciate them being so close to her new home.  
“Go away. You've had your sacrifice of death. Leave me, and do not return here unless called for.” She raised her palms and threw balls of fire towards the forest's army of monsters. They scattered. Slowly, she made her way to the gingerbread cottage and opened the door. She looked back at the forest, her new home, and sighed with hunger. It would be a long year before she got to eat what she really wanted. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance. The door closed, and the cailleach disappeared into the comforts of her home. 

Blood Moon

The moon was slowly rising on the edge of the Einzelganger Mountains near the town of Tannin. Men had gathered from across the valley, and the barmaids were being swamped with demands for more ale and meat. They swatted playfully at the advancing hands. In returned they received teasing whistles and growls. The hordes of men folk gave the impression of Adolpha's Ale-House being the tavern of choice. The amount of filth laden rushes, however, and the stench of months old trenchers in the bottom most layers hinted better at it being the only tavern available instead of just a regulars' favorite. A low slab of oak attempted to pass itself off as an actual bar. A brawny huntsman was loudly trying to woo the mistress Adolpha herself near it, but it wasn't working in his favor. With each refusal, the huntsman became louder and louder until Adolpha slapped an ale into his hand to silence him.  
“Stop your tall-talking, Bergen. Our last little...” here Adolpha dropped to her voice to a bawdy whisper, “adventure isn't all that likely to happen again.” She drew the tap again, and poured him ale to replace the one he'd just downed. She bustled away to serve others before sashaying back; her hips swayed generously to the rhythm of Bergen's eyes. She lifted his chin with a finger, and tapped him between the eyes.  
“We're going to start locking down soon, sugar. Are you going to stay the night...?” Bergen's eyes lit up with excitement. “In one of the guest rooms, you bumpkin, or are you going to head home?”   
Men in leather cassocks entered the ale-house as she spoke and began to close and bar the shutters adorning them with wooden crosses and silver chains.  
“Superstitious lot,” Adolpha muttered. “Everyone knows crosses have no effect. The silver might work, maybe, but not the crosses.” She shook her head. Bergen swallowed his ale, looking around blurry eyed.  
“What's going on? You folks didn't lock up like this last time I was in this neck of the valley.”  
“That's right. You don't know. It's Blood Moon, honey.” Adolpha explained.  
“But there haven’t been any of the weriuuolf clans in these parts since the Glass Queen's father tried to exterminate them all, what, more than 80 years ago. Besides, clans never go after people.”  
“Aye,” Adolpha concurred. “But clans did survive the exterminations by going in hiding, and it use to be common knowledge that clans would occasionally send out solitary young ones to hunt humans to teach them to kill. People are the greatest and most cunning animal to kill, and it was a great way to teach the cubs that.”  
“But what makes the village think there's a clan here?” Bergen asked.  
“Every Blood Moon, for the last few months, howls are heard across the valley. At first, sheep and cattle were found slaughtered on every farm. Then last month, a group of ragamuffins were found in the village square completely devoured. We only recognized them by their clothing.”  
“Let’s round everyone up and arm them with axes, swords, and whatever we have that can slice and dice! No more of this ridiculous hiding indoors as though we were sniveling children!”  
Adolpha reached across the oak slab and gently slapped him across the face. He slumped back in a stunned silence.  
“You shut your mouth, Bergen. You'd risk an entire village just to hunt down some weriuuolf pup that'll stop this nonsense once it's learned to sharpen its claws? You'd risk the life of my own boy, Reuben, with such nonsense? You know just a clan of five could decimate this whole village in one night. Shut your face, and don't let such nonsense be heard in this tavern again.” She huffed loudly, red-faced, and then took smaller breaths.  
“Look, Bergen, I know you don't mean any harm. But this village has a lot of families to think about. And I wouldn't risk Reuben for anything. You'd better run on now; they're about to bar the doors.”  
Bergen pushed himself from the bar with Adolpha's anger at him making him surprisingly sober. He was still muttering to himself about axes and stopping the madness as he walked away.   
As the doors were bolted with a steel bar behind Bergen, Adolpha shook her head.  
“Poor fool best go on home if he knows what's good for him.” She busied herself with closing down her ale-house.  
Bergen had gone to the ramshackle barn he called home. From among the pelts and furs, he pulled down an old but shiny double-headed axe. He stuck it into his belt and also pulled from the walls a crossbow.  
“Idiots,” he snapped to himself. “Only idiots would let some wolf-person terrorize them. And a pup, at that. I'll show them; I'll add a unique fur to the collection too.”   
He cast a fond eye around the walls. Bedecked with furs and skins from common animals like squirrels and badgers, it also contained the likes of the moon-glow white skin of a unicorn. It was the life time collection of a man in love with killing. And, as habit against being mistaken for a wild animal by another hunter, he slipped on dark red riding cloak. It was his most prized possession. It was lined with the fur of the first animal he'd ever slain: a wolf. He pulled the hood up to protect against the cold.  
The moon was full and red in the night-sky; it hung at the top of the sky instead of hovering near the edge as it had on the walk to his barn. Bergen wasn't sure where to begin hunting for a weriuuolf, but then he remembered the old footpath that traveled through the woods between the village farms. Most of the villagers had long forgotten about it, but it had struck Bergen that it would provide the perfect way for any hunting beast to travel. He slipped away into the shadows.  
He'd forgotten how many miles the old path spanned; half the night had waned, and there had been no seen of any beast whether normal or supernatural. Cattle lowed in the distant. Perhaps the whole village was wrong about what had been attacking the forest and village. Perhaps it had been a regular, lone wolf that had decided to move on to other pastures. He was about to call it a night when there was a piercing howl close enough to cause him to jump a foot in the air. Then it came jumping out of the brush on the other side of the path: A wolf with fur as black as an unlit cavern, eyes so green they almost glowed in the dark, and as big as a full-grown ox. It carried a calf in its mouth which it dropped to ground as it lumbered onto the path. It bowed its head and began to eat.  
Hidden in the shadows opposite the towering beast, Bergen looked at the weiruuolf in awe. He'd heard of these creatures and their clans, but he'd never run across one. It was more magnificent than he'd ever imagined. He absently ran his thumb over the lining of his cloak. He imagined how wonderful it would be to have this beast's fur lining it instead. As the calf slowly disappeared down the guzzle of the wolf, he slowly notched an arrow into his bow. Clouds drifted across the moon as he took aim. With a subtle whiz, the arrow took flight and struck the weiruuolf in the neck. It reared onto its hind legs with a sonorous howl to the moon. The arrow was snapped from its neck with the crunching of its jaws. It landed back on its forepaws and looked directly at where the huntsman sat crouched – the crossbow lying forgotten in his hands.  
The wolf crouched and, before Bergen could gather his wits or reload the bow, the wolf was on top of him in a flurry of fur, fangs, and claws. The claws dug deep into the cloak tearing and ripping beyond it even down to his flesh. They rolled down the embankment in a flurry of motion, and Bergen barely managed to withdraw his axe. He fumbled with it as the wolf continued to tear at him. He just barely managed to get a deep swing into the creature’s leg. It screamed, a disturbingly human sound from its canine mouth, and attempted to wretch the huntsman head from his neck. He, in turn, swung again with more precision, and managed to cleave a great hunk of skin and fur from the wolf. It let go of the huntsman, rearing again, and ran off back into the woods. The sound of its screeching trailed behind it.  
Bergen shook his head slowly, any traces of the ale's effects upon it long gone, and took stock of himself. Somewhere in the confusion he'd lost the crossbow. The cloak was in tatters, but he still had the axe. His wounds were mostly superficial, the cloak bearing the brunt of the wolf's attack, but there was a nasty gash on his leg that would probable require a gallon of ale to cleanse. He wasn't the only one bleeding: the moon glistened upon a trail of blood spatters that followed in the same direction of the weiruuolf's exit. The creature was more resilient and fierce than Bergen had anticipated. He was more determined than ever to add its pelt to his collection. He was sure also that the village would pay handsomely to whomever could bring an end to the recent killings. He adjusted his hood and waited momentarily for the clouds to pass. The wolf's blood glimmered dimly in the moonlight. He set out following it.  
The trail led him deeper into the valley woods than he'd ever traveled as he normally did his hunting outside the valley in more exotic kingdoms. He once even hunted trolls in the fabled Dark Forest, more than 3,000 miles away. These woods were far less magical and not normally a home to beasts and creatures of a more than normal quality. He was now practically lost in these woods. The trail went cold in a small clearing with branches moving in the breeze partly obscuring the view of the sky. Near the center of the clearing there was a pool of blood that had slightly congealed by the time he arrived.  
He circled it cautiously, looking for paw-prints to lead to the beast itself. There were none. Not paw-prints anyway. At the furthest edges, he found the smudged crests of where something had stumbled through the blood and then there were....were those human footprints? Bergen kneeled to look closer and saw that the wolf prints glided seamlessly into the form of human feet. The prints were of small human feet. It lent credence to Adolpha’s earlier statements about it just being a pup. Either way, Bergen was still desirous of its fur joining his collection.   
He looked to see in which directions the footprints walked away to, but they seemed to stop in mid-air. He leaned over the final prints. The trees whispered in the breeze. As the moon was obscured by the swaying branches, the weiruuolf dropped from the trees atop of Bergen. He swung wildly with the axe, but missed as he fell atop of his own face. He rolled over frantically, and then stopped struggling as he saw what was atop of him.   
It was no longer a wolf. A young boy of no more than 10 or 11 was atop of him. Covered in blood, the boy’s long hair was wild and tangled. The boy’s eyes were dilated so far all Bergen could see was the blackness of his pupil. And in the pause of Bergen’s astonishment, the boy swung his hand at Bergen’s throat. Something hot and sticky sprayed into the air. The boy held up his hand to reveal long claws instead of fingernails. Each claw now dripped with blood.   
Bergen gave a faint gurgle as a puddle formed around him. He stared into the depths of the now brazenly shining moon. He blinked slowly, and his last sight was of the boy’s barred teeth lowering down towards him. 

Adolpha grunted with the exertion of lifting the steel bar from her ale-house’s door. Shifting it aside, she smiled with pleasure as she heard Reuben come pattering down the stairs behind her.   
“Would you like some breakfast, my darling?” she asked as she turned towards him. She eyed him up and down. She felt a smidgen of pride at the fact that his long hair had been oiled and combed, his hands washed, and his grin looked as though he’d even scrubbed his teeth.  
“Nah, Ma. I had a really late dinner. It filled me right up.”   
“I’m glad you made it home safely, love. Did you bring me anything?”   
“I sure did!” His enthusiasm was contagious as he rifled in the bag he carried. He pulled forth a tattered red cloak with a fur lining. It was covered in blood. “Can you make it new for me, Ma?”   
Adolpha stared at the cloak with a look of shock and insolence.  
“Stupid man,” she muttered. “I told him he should just go home.” Lifting her voice, she readdressed Reuben.   
“Certainly, my love. I’ll make you the finest red riding hood this town has ever seen.” 

Shattered Mirrors

The entireties of the tower room’s walls were mirrored. Her leather cassock ripped and smeared with blood, the Queen collapsed onto the floor. She weakly stretched forth an arm towards the mirrors.  
“Mirror, mirror…” she gasped. Blood spewed onto the floor as she coughed.   
The mirror rippled, and a man appeared next to the reflection of the Queen.   
“Your Majesty!” he cried out. “You should not be here!” He waved and a couch appeared in the mirror. A real one shimmered into existence in the tower room also. The Queen struggled to crawl on to it as the man helped her reflection.   
“Where is she, Wahrheit?” she whispered to the man. The man, Wahrheit, disappeared and instantly reappeared.   
“She’s broken through the defenses manning the Great Hall. She’ll be up here soon. You know she means to kill you.”   
“Is there anything you can do to slow her down?”  
“No, your Majesty. Her soldiers have shattered all the mirrors between here and the Great Hall. Your own guards are hostages. You are defenseless here. You must flee.”  
“I cannot. I am far too weak. We must face one another here.”   
“Then I shall remain by your side, however ineffectual I may be.” Wahrheit proclaimed.   
“No,” the Queen replied. “You must go forth and let the other elders know what has happened here. The tower at Tannin has to be lit. Queen Betttrug must be warned.”  
“But, Queen Rabe…”  
“No more arguing, Wahrheit. Go!”  
The mirror man bowed.   
“As you wish.”   
He turned from her reflection and disappeared from the mirror. As he did so, the door to the tower room was thrown open, and a woman of breath-taking beauty entered.   
Her hair flowed freely, a waterfall of fine ebony that framed perfectly formed lips of oval. Her face was unnaturally pale, glowing with the luminance of freshly fallen snow. Set into such a face, her lips seemed as red as the blood that spattered her face. She seemed to float as she strode into the room, moving with the kind of unconscious grace that spoke of power and self-assurance. She swung her sword threateningly towards Queen Rabe.   
“Hello, Snow White.”   
“Hello, Mother,” the intruder sneered down at the wounded Queen. “I see that my soldiers got a hold of you before I could. That’s disappointing; I was so wishing to have the honors.”   
Queen Rabe coughed violently, spraying blood across the floor.   
“Oh, my daughter. I apologize that I will be unable to give you that one last parting gift. I fear that nature will take its course before you’d be able to use that sword on me.”  
“What a pity,” Snow White smiled devilishly. “Either way, your reign has come to its end, your kingdom is fallen before me, and I am now its Queen. It’s lovely when things work out according to plan.”   
“Betttrug will not allow your evil to spread beyond this kingdom. Wahrheit has already gone to ensure the lighting of the Tannin Tower. You may be Queen, but your empire will not be as large as you aspire it to be,” Queen Rabe gasped out.   
Snow White sheathed her sword and stood before the mirrors.   
“I confess that I’d forgotten about that stooge of yours. He’s how you knew that our western flank was just a diversion, wasn’t it? But it’s of no matter now. I’m sure he’s eager for your death; isn’t that the only way he can move on?”   
“Wahrheit would never wish death upon anyone. He has been a faithful servant for many years; if my death secures his freedom to the next world, I am happy to die for him.”   
“Hmm, I’m sure you are. That gives me an idea as to how to get at least some pleasure out of your pain.” She stroked the mirrored walls gently.   
“Wahrheit’s soul was imprisoned here centuries ago by dark magic, wasn’t it?” she asked Queen Rabe. “The same dark magic that now runs in my own veins.”  
“My poor girl,” Rabe sighed. “I’m so sorry that I failed in teaching you that the power of love is the most important thing in life.”  
“Is it truly, Mother? As far as I can see, all it’s done for you is lead to you dying abandoned and powerless. And I, I’ve gained everything. I may have paid a small price,” she rubbed her snowy skin, “but I’d say that it was worth it.”   
Throughout the exchange between the two, Snow White had been strolling around the tower, trailing her hands across the mirror. A faint glow of purple-black power had played around her fingers and, as she finished speaking to the Queen, she let loose an enormous burst of power that sunk deep into the mirror. The entire tower shook and rumbled, dust falling from the ceiling. Then spider-web veins cracked throughout the entire mirror.   
“What have you done?” Queen Rabe demanded of Snow White.   
“I’ve released Wahrheit from his prisoner. His soul has now moved on to wherever it would have gone centuries ago. But, you Mother, how could I ever bear being separated from you?” A serpentine smile slithered across her face. “Did you think I’d let death release you from your sufferings? No, you shall watch as I destroyed all the kingdoms that would stand in the way of my conquests.”  
Arms spread, she towered over Queen Rabe. A dark cloud of power swirled around her, glistening with sparks of gold.   
“Let form become shadow   
And truth binds its tongue  
Imprisoned deathless forever  
Your fate is sealed and done.”   
The dark cloud whipped around the Queen, blocking her from view. It whirled to touch the ceiling and then, with a deep rushing sound, the power soaked into the mirror clouding it completely over. As the power fade, the cracks sealed themselves making the glass smooth and whole once again. In the mirror, Queen Rabe remained seated on the couch but now all traces of her wounds were gone. The couch and the Queen were both gone from the tower room.   
Snow White cackled loudly.   
“You see, Mother? You will be my Wahrheit. Forced to speak nothing but the truth, you will do nothing but my bidding.”  
“No matter what,” Queen Rabe responded, “You will never succeed. Darkness never does.”  
“We shall see, Mother. We shall see. Now, let’s begin doing something about dear Aunt Betttrug.” 

Swan Wars 

The villagers of Tannin huddled together in the crooks and crannies of the streets as the Black Snow squads raided the houses and shops. Furniture, clothes, and various goods and valuables littered the streets. Every few houses, someone was dragged out, kicking and screaming, to be carted away in chains.   
“Why are they doing this, Ma?” Reuben asked, tugging at Adolpha’s apron.   
“They’re looking for traitors or anyone who may have loyalty to Queen Rabe. Snow White is furious that the tower was lit. With its power protecting this border, she can’t go this way to go conquer the kingdoms and villages around the Eternal Forest. She’s forced to deal with Betttrug sooner than she’d like. So, she’s making sure to get rid of anyone here who may try to aid Queen Betttrug. Don’t worry, love. They’ll leave soon.” She hurried him back into tavern.   
It had already been ramshackled by the soldiers, and she and Reuben half-heartedly put everything back to rights.   
“We have to do something, Ma. We can’t just sit around and watch Snow White try to take over everywhere. If she does, the clans will never get to run free again.”  
“I’m well aware, me love. We are going to do something. Go make bar the door.”   
Reuben slid the huge oaken bar across the door and drew the curtains. In the meantime, Adolpha had hung an ornate mirror of silver and bronze upon the wall and lit a number of candles. She drew out a small blade as Reuben walked back to her.   
“Stand back, love. Mirror magic can be tricky.”  
“Who are you trying to call?” Reuben asked.   
“Rumor has it that Queen Rabe is dead. I don’t believe that Snow would have had her killed. If she’s alive, then it means that Wehrheit is still around. If I can get a hold of him, then we can call a council of the clan. We must start banding together against the Black Snow.” She drew the blade across a finger tip and smeared the blood across the glaze. Deep in her throat, she let loose with several wild, guttural words.   
The blood shimmered and soaked into the mirror. A chime sounded.  
Wehreiht!” Adolpha called out. “I summon thee!”   
The chime sounded again and the mirror filled with pearly smoke. It faded and, and a face peered from the mirror’s depth.   
“Queen Rabe!” Adolpha gasped. “You are alive!”   
Queen Rabe laughed loudly.   
“My dear Adolpha! It has been too long since I’ve the privilege of seeing you. I fear that we meet now under the most dreadful of circumstances. I apologize for intruding on your call, but Wehrheit has been freed. Snow White has placed me into his prison.”  
“Your Majesty, my relief that you’re alive is tempered by my despair at your fat. I am sorry to disturb you but I needed Wehrheit to contact others for me.”  
“I will do it for you, Adolpha. I assume that you want the clans assembled?”   
“Yes, my Queen. But I cannot ask you to run errands for me.”   
“Nonsense, Adolpha no leader is a true leader if they cannot serve. I shall call them all together. When and where shall I have them meet?”   
The Borderline Woods at the next three moon risings from now.”  
“Very well, my dear friend. It shall be done. But I must warn you that you cannot risk calling me again. Snow White has heavy enchantments upon my prison, and I would never forgive myself if you were imprisoned or worse.”   
“As you wish, your Majesty.”   
The Borderline was steeped in mist and starlight The light refracted like lightning bugs as it hit the shattered glass that littered the ground. Queen Rabe's face flittered amongst the shards: she gave a low whistle, sharp and chrystalline. The trees rustled as though in a high breeze; in groups the clans dropped from the tree tops. A circle formed amongst the forest, at it's center stood Adolpha. She was dressed in sleek black furs and a jagged crown of black quartz circled her head. As the last of the starlight faded behind the clouds, Adopha threw back her head and howled.   
"Friends, family, allies!* she roared. " We meet here as an oppressed people -a people buried beneath the weight of black magic, a cruel queen,


End file.
